The Madness of His Blood
by Nellark
Summary: The Tormentor, The Collector and The Watcher. The daughters of The House of Black are strange creatures, it is clear. But when faced with arranged marriage, forbidden love and total alienation, the madness of the House of Black will surely be made manifest. "The Madness of His Blood" tells the tale of the two years at Hogwarts where the House of Black turned sour. ABxTT / BBxRL
1. Prologue: The Black Death

**Prologue: Black Death**

**Buckinghamshire, 1959**

Hidden miles from anything living, concealed under a dozen charms, was a manor house so old, so vast and so enviable, that the owners of the house were the most hated family in the Wizarding world.

The manor house loomed ominously over its sprawling front lawn, where the setting sun cast an enormous black shadow of the house over the small groups of families and acquaintances who were walking up the long gravel path towards the front door.

Upon entering Black Manor, Fidelia Lestrange found it hard to conceal her envy.

It was ironic, really, that Fidelia was so jealous. All around her, where she stood in the spooky old entrance hall, women were looking at her and scowling. She was beautiful by anyone's standards: tall and slim with long golden hair, a mask of superiority, an expensive dress and a rich husband. But to Fidelia Lestrange, power was not in beauty in the real world. Power was in money. Money made the world go round. Money got people from A to B and B to Z. The Black family had more money than any other family in the country.

Fidelia stood on her own, staring up at a painting while she waited for her husband to catch up with her. The picture itself was a morbid tribute to a recently deceased member of the Black household. In the picture, the man stood tall, proud and alive in a black cloak, clutching a black cane with a pure silver handle in the shape of a snake's head. In front of Fidelia, a house elf was just finishing off sealing the plaque at the bottom of the enormous painting.

_Pollux Phineas Black_

_1880-1962_

_Tourjours Pur, Ne lâche._

"Fidelia..." wheezed a man's voice from behind her. "There... you are..."

Fidelia knew that the breathless man was her worthless husband. She did not turn around. The sound of his voice and the stench of whisky and sweat made it clear enough that it was him.

She continued staring at the painting. "Where have you been?" she asked him.

Her husband panted a little more before gulping. "Running round the grounds like a bloody madman. I found the boys without your help. I'm fine, too, thank you for asking."

Fidelia said nothing.

Her husband came to stand beside her, facing the painting. He wiped his sweaty brow with the sleeve of his cloak, then leaned forward to read the inscription on the gold plaque.

"_Tourjours Pur_..." he read loudly, causing others nearby to turn around. "Mmm. Fitting. Good choice."

Fidelia shook her head subtly. "No. It's too predictable."

Her husband spun round with an expression of manic alarm on his purple face. "Keep your voice _down_, woman!" he hissed. "We are at a funeral! A _Black _family funeral!"

Fidelia gave her husband a pointed look. "Take a look around you, Claudius. How many of these people do you think actually liked the man?"

"That's not the point," Claudius growled. "Now hold your tongue or I shall silence you."

Fidelia laughed, cruelly, then turned away from him in search of the widow. She wouldn't be hard to find. Several funeral-goers kept leaning out from their small social circles to peer into the doors to the drawing room, from which no noise was emitted.

"What does the other bit mean, then?" asked Claudius.

"Hmm?"

"After the _Tourjours Pur _bit. What's that supposed to mean?"

Fidelia turned back round to the painting and read the plaque again.

_" Ne lâche. _Never weak."

Her husband tutted.

"We need to talk to Irma Black," Fidelia told him, returning her gaze to the silent drawing room.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because it's polite."

Claudius scoffed.

Fidelia looked down at the two young boys stood side-by-side next to Claudius. She allowed herself an internal smile. There was a group of children screaming and running around in another room. Her boys were not so badly behaved.

"Go and play with the other children, my darlings. Father and I will only be a minute."

The two boys looked at each other and frowned, but marched off in the direction of the squealing nonetheless.

Fidelia and Claudius walked sombrely through the guests, shuffling between dense groups of people until they finally came through to the drawing room. Fidelia could not have been more pleased to leave the miserable hallway. Even in the drawing room, where the dead man's family sat huddled together in their fake grief, were a brighter sight than the gaggles of gossiping families from poorer families and more remote corners of the country.

The drawing room was gloomy, yes, but elegant. The oak-panelled walls, the velvet armchairs and the grand piano were reminiscent of the sort of home Fidelia wished she'd owned. If only they had the money, the connections...

Irma Black was easy to spot. She was sat in a plush armchair at the top of the long hall-like room, flanked by standing members of her family. She was an old woman. Wrinkled and white-haired but not withered. She was not crying. She hadn't cried at the funeral, either. A dab of the handkerchief here and there, perhaps, but nothing more.

Fidelia approached the widow, followed by her husband. As she came closer, she noticed the sleek black cane that Irma gripped. It was the same snake-handled cane that her dead husband was grasping in the painting.

"Madam Black," Fidelia curtseyed. "We're very sorry for your loss. Your husband was a fine wizard."

"Oh, my dear, don't be sorry," Irma pardoned. "Pollux had been praying for death for nigh-on five years. His death is a relief to us all."

Fidelia blinked. "Well, then. At least he's at peace now."

"Indeed," Irma nodded. "I thank you for attending. Claudius, it's been too long."

Fidelia felt her cheeks grow hot as her husband side-stepped her to speak to the widow.

"It has indeed, Madam, but the fault is entirely mine."

"I know."

Claudius fell silent, turned red, then stepped back again. Fidelia straightened her back.

"This must be your radiant wife. Fidolia, is it?"

Fidelia managed a broad smile. "Fidelia, Madam."

"Ah, yes..." Irma Black mused, looked up and down at Fidelia. "Pretty young thing..."

Suddenly, from another room, the sound of a screaming child pierced the ears of everyone at the wake. Fidelia's children never screamed. She watched Irma and her family for reactions; clues as to whose child it might be. She saw Irma roll her eyes.

"_Cygnus..._," Irma drawled. One of the men beside her, the taller one whom Fidelia remembered had walked beside the floating coffin at the burial earlier, leaned down to listen to Irma.

"Control your children. It's ungainly for girls to lark about at their grandfather's funeral."

Cygnus Black, whose ashen face and dust-coloured hair showed him as the most miserable man in existence, nodded curtly to his mother. He stood up straight again, and glanced to his right, where a young woman with black hair stood demurely.

"Deal with them," he ordered her in a low voice. Fidelia raised her eyebrows. However, instead of the young woman scowling at her husband and stalking off, she merely bowed her head and slinked away.

"_Grandchildren_..." Irma tutted, distracting Fidelia and Claudius from the minor drama. "They're an inconvenience at the best of times. Do you have children, Madame Lestrange?"

"Yes," Fidelia smiled politely. "Twin boys. Eight years old."

Irma's eyes brightened. "Eight, you say? Both boys?"

Fidelia nodded.

Irma sat back in her chair. "Intriguing..."

The screaming of the child continued. Fidelia was the first to move, quickly slipping between the guests in the drawing room, out into the hall, where the screaming was louder. No sooner had she crossed the room to the door through which the children had left, her sons had come running back into the hall. They were covered in dust and cobwebs, their faces white. Rabastan was wailing and screaming in such a high-pitched voice that some of the guests were laughing.

"Boys?" Fidelia walked quickly towards them. "What, in the name of Merlin, do you think you're playing at?"

Rabastan was too hysterical to answer. Rodolphus, who looked ill, stepped closer to her. "We want to go home," he whispered. "Please, Mummy, please can we go home?"

"Of course we can't, this is a funeral," she replied, but looking around at the amused guests made her wish for the ground to swallow her up.

"_Please_, Mummy, we're scared!" Tears formed in her son's eyes. He threw himself at her feet and gripped her legs. There was more laughter from guests. Fidelia turned and glowered at the loudest of them.

"Rodolphus, let go. You're being silly," she prised her son from her skirts. She then turned to Rabastan, who was still screaming, and grabbed his shoulders. "Pull yourself together, Rabastan. Come on..." but he continued to scream. She shook him. "Stop _screaming_!"

Around her, there was not a single guest who wasn't at least chuckling. That was, until, Fidelia's husband crashed into the hallway, barged through the crowds and stared furiously at his sons. He grabbed the younger one, the screamer, and hauled him up by the collar to his eye level.

"Stop screaming," Claudius Lestrange growled. "Talk, or it's a silencing charm for you."

Rabastan stopped screaming immediately. He hiccupped and panted, still crying, but still managing to talk. "There's a zombie in the cellar! It was Mr Black! He's come back to life! He's in the cellar!"

Fidelia expected the guests to be in hysterics. They weren't. They were scandalised. She saw their faces and felt very faint. "Claudius, we're leaving."

"Too right we are," he replied. "You, boy, have embarrassed us all..."

Claudius continued to berate his son while Fidelia took Rodolphus' hand and steered him towards the front door. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of the corridor down which her sons had been lead away earlier. At the other end of it, far away from the gathered guests, was the demure Druella Black. She was kneeling in front of the three Black girls, gripping the shoulders of the brown-haired one, talking angrily at her. The little one was crying into her teddy bear. The oldest one, with black hair, was watching her mother with a smug enjoyment that escalated when Druella slapped her daughter across the face.

"I don't like it here, Mummy," Rodolphus whimpered. "I don't want to ever come back."

"Me neither, my darling," said Fidelia vaguely. "But some things have got to be done."

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_A/N: Thank you for reading. _

_The rest of the story will be set a few years in the future, when all three of the Black girls are at Hogwarts. _

_I hope you enjoy. Please leave a review, no matter how short. _


	2. PART I: Ch 1: A Child, A Perfect Child

**PART I OF III - The Pledge**

Chapter One: A Child, A Perfect Child.

**22nd August 1968**

Druella Lestrange stood at the window of the gloomy parlour, watching the rain cascade down the glass, blurring the view of the moors beyond the garden walls. She hated the rain. It reminded her of her wedding day, when the weather was so torrential that not even the most powerful umbrella charms could protect them from it.

Downpours were designed to torment Druella. They cleared the world of people, finally offering her the chance of peace, but the showers were stifling and claustrophobic. At every chance of solitude in the outside world, Druella was shut away in the dry. It made her ache.

And yet, watching the clear cold water stream down the window pane, Druella was calm. Cleanliness and clarity made her bones feel hollow and light, and her mind was rid of the messy storms that plagued her every day. She felt pure.

"Have you read this?" asked a stony voice from the sofas.

"No, my love," Druella replied, knowing that her husband was reading the _Daily Prophet._

"Only forty one percent of new students at Hogwarts this year are purebloods."

Narcissa's first year. Druella's tranquility was gone. She could picture the Sorting, which would happen in a matter of days. Her youngest daughter would be stood in the hall surrounded by dirt and filth, itching to be called, to escape the mess and be sent to the pure children, where she belonged. Narcissa had only turned eleven that day. She would not be able to cope.

"Poor girl..." commented Druella.

"It's disgusting," Cygnus spat. "By the time my sister's boys are in Hogwarts, they'll be the only ones in Slytherin."

"I'm sure that won't be the case," said Druella vaguely, still staring out the window.

"I was exaggerating, woman."

Above them, Druella could hear footsteps. Three pairs, to be precise, running around Narcissa's bedroom. The girls were laughing.

"Then again..." Cygnus continued. "Orion is concerned."

Druella tried not to grimace. Her sister-in-law's husband was one of the least tolerable men she'd ever met. And even then, she still preferred him to his wife.

"Is he?"

"Understandably. There are so few of our kind left. This may be our only chance to continue the line of Black..."

Druella knew her husband was watching her. She no longer felt ashamed when he did. The prospect of providing Cygnus with son was long gone, and there was nothing either of them could do about it.

"But as my fortune goes to the older one," continued Cygnus. "I must encourage his matrimony to a pure Slytherin."

"Our daughters may give us grandsons, Husband."

"Irrelevant, I regret to say, unless a son is born to one of them before I am dead," he said miserably. "But like I said, there are so few purebloods left."

Druella's calm had vanished completely. She was sure it would not come back. Not until Cygnus saw a grandson. Not until she saw _her _fortune go to _her _child, not the brat of her husband's sour hag of a sister.

Above them, the girls had started cackling loudly, and singing.

"Shut them up," Cygnus ordered. "You know I can't abide girlish shrieking."

Druella ground her teeth and removed herself from the window. As she walked through the door to the hallway and began ascending the stairs, she thought about what she always thought about when she left her husband alone in a room: how easy it would be to curse him through the door hinge. Cygnus always sat right in the would-be firing line. He would see her. Druella was a dab hand at silent spells. But he would know it was her. Everyone would know it was her.

When Druella reached the landing, she could hear the girls chanting.

"_Gryffindor, Gryffindor, they've never had a Black before_!"

"I won't be in Gryffindor! I _won't_!"

"_Slytherin, Slytherin, they'll never let Narcissa in!_"

Druella opened the door. The girls froze. They stared at her. She stared back at them. "What is the meaning of this ridiculous behaviour?" she asked calmly.

Bellatrix, her oldest, smiled. "Look what arrived for Cissy today, Mother," she held out a piece of parchment. Druella took it and read it over.

_Dear Miss Black, _

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at-_

"Good," said Druella. She didn't need to read the rest. "We need to buy your supplies. Where's your list?"

The girls remained silent. They didn't move. Druella rolled her eyes. "Where is it?"

Andromeda, the middle child, turned round and picked up something from the writing desk behind her. She tentatively held it out towards her mother, who grabbed it. She scanned it. It was Narcissa's list of Hogwarts requirements, ripped down the middle, almost completely torn in two.

"Which one of you did this?" Druella demanded.

"It was her," answered Bellatrix, pointing at Andromeda. Andromeda's jaw dropped.

"No, it wasn't! It was Bella!"

"You lying bitch!"

Druella immediately whipped out her wand. One flick in Bellatrix's direction, and she could no longer talk. Another flick in Andromeda's direction, and her hands were stuck to her sides.

"That's for using foul language," she told Bellatrix, who was going red with fury. Her mouth opened and shut like a goldfish, her voice temporarily gone. Druella turned to Andromeda. "And _that's _for ripping Narcissa's letter."

"But it wasn't me!"

"Get your hooded cloak, Narcissa, it's raining. You two are staying here."

"But what about our new books?" asked Andromeda anxiously, sharing a worried glance with Bellatrix.

"I'll buy them for you. Who knows, maybe I'll save some money and buy second hand copies."

Bellatrix and Andromeda looked horrified. Druella could only stare at them, at their faces, at their pretty eyes and long hair. Cygnus' words echoed in her mind and pained her. _There are so few purebloods left_. Had they not advertised their daughters enough for them to be coveted by the sacred pureblood Houses? Had any of them paid any notice? Or did Druella have to try again?

"The three of you..." Druella spoke softly. "You are childish, my loves. Act your age, or you will be deeply disappointed when adult life is forced upon you."

Andromeda watched her mother with ominous suspicion, but Druella was more interested in Bellatrix. She was watching Druella in the same way she always did: as though she would pounce on her at any moment. Seventeen years of mothering her, and her look unnerved her every time.

"Come, Narcissa," she said, grabbing her youngest daughter's hand and exiting the room.

They walked across the landing to Druella's bedroom, which had the nearest fireplace in. "I'll go first," said Druella. "You're too young to be in Knockturn Alley without me."

"Mother..." began Narcissa cautiously. "You didn't bind Bella's arms."

"No, I didn't. I cast a silencing charm instead, because she used a bad word."

"She'll kill Andromeda when we're gone."

"It serves Andromeda right for ripping your letter, darling."

"But..." Narcissa paused.

Druella narrowed her eyes. "Did Andromeda rip your letter? Or was it Bellatrix?"

Narcissa gulped. She glanced down the hallway to her bedroom, where Bellatrix and Andromeda were still making no noise.

"Andromeda," said Narcissa, looking at the floor.

They arrived in Knockturn Alley and walked in silence, both of them thinking of the two girls they'd left behind. Bellatrix, surely beating her constricted sister to a pulp, was the most important piece in the game they were about to play. But she was a child. A stubborn child. Druella would need help from the most formidable source.

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**31st August 1968**

Irma Black arrived within an hour of Druella's owl.

A house elf showed her to the parlour, despite her knowing her way around the house better than Druella herself.

"Thank you for coming, Irma," said Druella when the old woman entered the room. "I can think of no better aid in times such as these."

"Think nothing of it," said Irma, waving her hand in dismissal. "It is not a laborious call of duty if it concerns family. Now, elf, let us have some lemon tea."

Irma Black was a terrifying woman: old, cold and wise, yet still allusive and powerful through the scrupulous connections of the House of Black. She lead her life according to her most valued core principles: tradition, wealth and decorum. She headed her late husband's beloved House of Black with their one goal at the forefront of everything they did. _Legacy. _Subconsciously, she filled her world with hypocrisy. For example, she claimed to be intolerant of scandal and would downright forbid any decision-making in the family that would lead to any undesirable reputations. Career paths must be approved by her, as were marriages and even new friendship circles. At the same time, however, she would leap at the chance to hear of the latest downfall of an acquaintance. Even in her old age, she seemed to get a thrill from being the source of all gossip and would hold back her information until she had people squirming at her feet. Such a woman was not well thought of by the likes of Druella, but never the less, she was useful.

"Now tell me," Irma began. "Which of your girls concerns you the most?"

"Um, I suppose the older two. It's only recently that I've started to notice their... age. Cygnus, too, is thinking of the near future now that the girls are maturing."

Irma nodded. "I understand. I confess, when I received your owl, I was conflicted. I'm aware that if I had refused to help, the money that my son would inherit upon my death would default to my grandsons on _his _death. As a member of this House, surely you can see why that would please me."

Druella swallowed. "Yes... I suppose so." This was a classic Irma Black technique: a person asks for help, you make them desperate. You have them entirely in your power. Druella would be spitting blood if she hadn't already been under Irma's thumb for the past twenty years.

"Nevertheless, it is my son's happiness I am concerned with now. My daughter can make do with her boys. Cygnus has nothing."

It was now that Druella remembered why she invited Irma round so little. She sickened her.

"I'm not sure I would call three daughters 'nothing', Irma,"

"You wouldn't?"

Silence fell between them as they sized each other up. Irma would be intolerable, but tolerate her, Druella must.

"So," Irma began again. "We should start with the trickiest one. Which of your daughters is that?"

Again, Druella did not speak. She was their mother. She was not allowed to answer questions like that.

Irma smirked at Druella's silence. "Come now, dear, we both know the answer to that question so let's admit it and move forward."

Druella internally cursed herself. "Bellatrix is... a challenge."

Irma nodded knowingly.

"She's..." _Angry. Manipulative. Cruel. _"Stubborn."

"Yes... yes..." murmured Irma, thinking. "Unfortunately for Bellatrix, the only hope of marriage for a stubborn girl is a desperate boy. If Bellatrix is unappealing, we need someone who's son is equally tricky to place. The Malfoys would never agree to it, which is a shame. The Goyles would not accept it either. There are the Zabinis, I suppose. They could do with some money. Or the Lestranges... they have _two _boys. They're about as unpopular as ringworm, but they're fairly well-off. Strict purebloods. That's just what we need."

The reality of what Druella was doing hit her like a ton of bricks. She leapt to her feet, only to knock a house elf flying, causing the freshly arrived tray of tea to spill everywhere.

"S-s-so sorry, Mistress!" squeaked the house elf.

"Stupid creature," muttered Irma. "Go and make some more and don't sneak around."

"Yes, Mistress!" The house elf scooped up the tray and shattered glass and scurried away.

Irma pulled out her wand and pointed it at the spilt tea. "_Tergeo_," she said, and the spillage was washed away. "Now, back to-"

"Irma..." Druella interjected. "Perhaps it is a bit too soon to be arranging a marriage for the girls. They are, after all, just girls. Maybe we should wait until-"

"Until they are too independent?" Irma snapped. "Until they have eloped with a shopkeeper's boy? Until after Cygnus is dead? Druella, please tell me you are not suggesting that we risk Cygnus' family line for the sake of a few more years of infantile behaviour."

Druella gulped. "I suppose... I suppose it would do Bella some good to grow up..."

"Get her."

"...Sorry?"

"Bellatrix. Bring her to me."

Druella did as she was told. She opened the French doors and called Bellatrix in, all the while wishing Irma was dead. But she had to remind herself of the cause. _Tourjours Pur, Tourjours Pur, Tourjours Pur_.

Bellatrix came in from the garden and Druella cringed. She was wearing the most babyish red button-up dress she could have possibly picked, with clunky black boots and plaited hair.

"Grandmother," greeted Bellatrix, looking as happy as a dead cat. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Likewise, my dear girl. Now, stand still,"

Bellatrix shot her mother a bewildered glance as Irma held her spectacles to her face and looked her up and down.

"The Lestrange boys," said Irma inexplicably to Bellatrix.

"What of them?"

"I'd like you to introduce yourselves to them."

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. "I've already met them. They are repulsive."

Druella glowered at her daughter, who avoided looking at her.

"Their exterior characters aside, I would like you to become better acquainted with them."

"I will do no such thing."

Druella, sensing Irma's shock at Bellatrix's lack of respect, felt a surge of anger course through herself. "BELLATRIX!" she shouted, rising from her seat. "How _dare_ you defy your grandmother. Have you no respect? No shame?"

"I have no respect for the Lestrange boys, Mother. You wouldn't either, if you knew them."

Irma was reading Druella's mothering skills through Bellatrix's behaviour, Druella could tell. With every defiance, Irma would be more and more disapproving. "You attention-seeking little madam!" Druella spat, seething with more and more anger and mortification with every second that passed in which Bellatrix looked unmoved by her mother's insults. Irma suddenly rose from her seat with unnerving calmness and strode over to Bellatrix.

"You will become acquainted with the Lestrange boys. Pick one, and I don't care which, and make him believe that you are... interested. If you care for your own happiness and for the future of this great family, you will do as I ask. I will write to Madame Lestrange before the Christmas holidays, enquiring about a visit from the boys. If I get a refusal, you shall be punished. I can assure you of that."

Bellatrix would have appeared unmoved once again to a casual observer, even perhaps to Irma herself. But to Druella, she could see anger building within Bellatrix by the slightest twitch of her set jaw. Druella hid her ominous expression with a sip of tea as Bellatrix stormed off upstairs.

"You're to take her to Knockturn Alley. Today. That dress is far too unflattering. She must look sophisticated and well-groomed if she is to make an impression among the more favourable wizarding families."

Irma reached for her cane that had been resting beside her chair. She was preparing to leave.

"Irma," began Druella nervously. "The girls are leaving for Hogwarts tomorrow morning. I doubt there'll be time for-"

"Then you'll have to make time," Irma said. Druella almost felt winded by her words. Her anger was nothing new, but speared Druella to ground none-the-less. Irma strode back through the house, the stabbing noises of her cane on the ground echoing around the cold house.

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_A/N: Thank you for reading. _

_Please review/follow/favourite._

_N x_


	3. Ch 2: Tables

**Chapter Two**

**1st September 1968**

The Great Hall seemed to have shrunk over Summer, yet the Slytherin table seemed sparse. Looking up and down the rows of benches, Bellatrix could see the huge gaps in between friendship groups.

Bellatrix hoped that the incoming first years would make up for the space, but couldn't help notice that the other three Houses did not have such dwindling numbers.

The first years were even younger than Bellatrix remembered, and standing among them was her sister.

Bellatrix Black half-stood to watch her Narcissa walk through the rest of the first years to the stool. The Slytherin table had fallen silent, and were watching closely.

"She's shorter than the others," whispered Andromeda, who sat opposite Bellatrix and had turned in her seat to watch.

"Quiet, sister."

"Merlin, she's so _young._ They all are..."

"They're all eleven. Nowshush,"

They watched McGonagall place the Sorting Hat on their sister's head. The hat hesitated for a second or two, assumingly because Narcissa was screaming at it to sort her properly. "SLYTHERIN!"

The Slytherin table erupted into applause at the same time as Bellatrix Black cheered unashamedly for her Narcissa, whose last name and definitive Sorting had commanded even more interest from the rest of the school. But Bellatrix cared nothing for the opinions of the other three Houses.

Bellatrix was clever. She'd paid attention to the countless family discussions about the other houses at Hogwarts. Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. The weedy, the unambitious and the cocky. Unfortunately for Hogwarts, one of the many people who saw the House system as an indicator of strengths had seeped up through the cracks of the wizarding world and was now in charge. Albus Dumbledore.

He sat at the front, clapping for Narcissa Black as she scurried away. His eyes lingered on her, then he looked quickly away as she reached the Slytherin table.

There was nothing prejudiced about the Slytherin house.

Narcissa waved to Bellatrix as she reached her in the middle of the bench. Next to Bellatrix sat Jesper Goyle, her childhood friend. He scooted aside to make room for her.

"Welcome to Slytherin, Narcissa," greeted Jesper. Narcissa smiled bashfully at the rest of the members of her House, many of whom were craning to get a glimpse of the third Slytherin Black. Pride filled Bellatrix as Narcissa received admiring looks and words of congratulations.

"Pay close attention, Narcissa," Bellatrix whispered, grabbing her shoulder and forcing her to face the Sorting. "Listen to their names. Remember their faces."

"I was so nervous..." whispered Narcissa as the next first year's name was called.

"Rubbish. You knew perfectly well you'd end up here," Bellatrix gave her sister a brief one-armed squeeze round the shoulders. Narcissa looked delighted.

Bellatrix's attention returned to the Sorting. The blonde boy who'd come after Narcissa leapt from the stool and ran to the Gryffindor table. He excitedly slid in a prepared space between a little fourth year girl and Fabian Prewett. It was then that Bellatrix noticed the Prewett twins glaring at her.

"What's _their _problem?" Bellatrix asked, pointing them out her friends around them. Several of them turned around and glared back at the Gryffindor table.

"Who, The Prewetts?" asked another friend of Bellatrix, Iago Greengrass. "Well, they're Gryffindors, they're poor, they're blood traitors and are as thick and ugly as inbred trolls. Their problem is themselves." Iago's comment received a low rumbling of chuckling and agreement.

The Prewett twins were still staring at her angrily.

"They're offending my eyesight. WHAT ARE YOU STARING AT?!" Bellatrix shouted, standing up. Dozens more people turned round to stare at her. At the front table, a teacher shushed her.

"Bellatrix," Andromeda warned, looking around. Narcissa tugged on her sister's robes, pulling her back down.

"Head-cases," tutted Bellatrix, straightening her robes.

"Or maybe," began Andromeda, "It has something to do with what you did earlier on the train?"

"Which was?" asked Bellatrix.

"You called Molly a 'fat little gerbil'".

"Molly? I don't know a Molly."

"_You two_," hissed someone from the front. Bellatrix and Andromeda peered down the table. Professor Creedence, the meek blonde woman responsible for Muggle Studies, pressed a finger to her lips to silence them. She wore a midnight blue dress suit with a wicker hat adorned with pink roses.

"Tasteless mudblood..." muttered Bellatrix as Professor Creedence returned to the teachers' table, eliciting chuckles from Jesper and Iago.

When Professor Creedence was safely distracted by the Sorting, Bellatrix leaned forward. "Carry on, then,"

"_What_?" hissed Andromeda.

"You were telling me why the Prewetts are looking at me like that."

"Shut up! We'll get in trouble." Andromeda turned away, focusing on the Sorting. Bellatrix waited. Andromeda did not turn back round.

"Andromeda..."

She ignored her.

"'_Dromeda_!"

Andromeda whipped round and glared at her sister. "For Merlin's sake, Bella, you called Molly Prewett a 'fat little gerbil' and she cried. Alright?"

"Molly _Prewett_?! There's a _sister_?!"

Before Andromeda could silence her, Professor Creedence was out of her seat and was marching alongside the Slytherin table towards her. Bellatrix grimaced.

Professor Creedence stopped in between Bellatrix and Narcissa, leant closer to her, and spoke at her. "My office, Miss Black. Tonight."

"Ooh, inappropriate..." drawled Iago.

"Be quiet, Mr Greengrass, or you'll be joining Miss Black in detention."

"You're giving Bellatrix detention?" asked Jesper, astonished.

Bellatrix's mouth fell open dramatically.

"I certainly am. Now keep quiet, Miss Black, or it'll be a whole week's detention. We don't want that on your first week back, do we?" Professor Creedence turned and ambled back up to the teachers' table.

Bellatrix was stunned.

"Wow. Black, out of all the teachers to be given detention with, you get Professor Mudblood! Your father will be so pleased."

"Greengrass..." Bellatrix seethed. "You can be sure that when the feast arrives, I will pour my scolding cup of hot chocolate all over that bald head of yours and watch your scalp peel off."

Further down the bench, she received a laugh. She leant backwards, hanging onto the edge of the bench, and peered down the table. A few seats away from her was a copper-haired, dimple-faced boy. Rodolphus Lestrange. The smirk from his laugh still etched in his face.

Bella fell back into her seat quickly and shielded her face with her hair.

"Bella?" whispered Narcissa. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, shut up."

"You look ill."

"I'm fine, now _shut up._"

Bellatrix felt her face burn. After her conversation she'd had with her grandmother, she knew that the next few years at Hogwarts would be very uncomfortable indeed. It was not difficult to guess Irma Black's intentions when she requested that Bellatrix get to know the Lestrange twins. She'd had very few encounters with The Lestranges, but she knew that Rodolphus was arrogant. Bellatrix hated arrogance. Similarly, his brother Rabastan was a gloater. He was also oily and menacing. Bellatrix could at least give credit to Rodolphus for being so self-centred that he at least washed his hair occasionally.

"Zabini, April!" called McGonagall.

"SLYTHERIN!"

The small first year came tearing down the aisle to her new table, where she slipped into a seat between Jesper Goyle and Ruthie Nott, another first year. Bellatrix leaned closer to Narcissa and whispered in her ear: "Names and faces, Sister. Mother will want them all."

Narcissa's homesickness could made her vulnerable to irrational comradeship. That's what their mother had warned Bellatrix about. As mountains of food appeared before their eyes and the feast began, Narcissa began chatting happily with April Zabini and Ruthie Nott. Narcissa was not a chatty girl. She was doing as she was told.

**oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo **

The feast was over in an hour. Bellatrix escaped her friends and sisters once students started filling up the Hogwarts Stairways. Martine Pleasance, a seventh year Slytherin, was eager to demonstrate her authority as the new Head Girl and so barked orders at her House to direct the first years safely to the common room.

"Bellatrix Black!" shouted Martine just before Bellatrix reached a staircase "Where do you think you're going?"

Bella rolled her eyes and turned round slowly. "I need the loo."

Martine looked at the staircase Bellatrix was about to climb and raised an eyebrow. "Well, you're not going to find it in the Astronomy Tower. Black, you're supposed to be taking the first years to the common room."

"No."

Martine pursed her lips. "I'm Head Girl now, Bellatrix. You have to do as I say."

"Or what? You'll deduct House points from me?"

Martine's friends, who had formed a ring around their herd of first years, sucked in deep breaths and 'Ooh'ed. Bellatrix watched Martine grind her teeth and remain where she stood, her arms folded. She was an exceedingly tall girl, which was probably what gave her the gravitas other people seemed to see in her. She was otherwise plain, with pallid skin and dry brown hair. She had hated Bellatrix for years. Bellatrix could not, for the life of her, remember why.

"Bellatrix... do as I command, or I will punish you."

Bellatrix smiled, turned on her heels and ascended the staircase.

Another year at Hogwarts, another year of sneaking around. Bellatrix had a lot to be proud of, but her term-time treat was the one thing she kept hidden. She would always keep it hidden. She would use secret passages, tip-toe, be inconspicuous...

Bellatrix found the first corridor of the North Wing to be empty. No dormitories could be found up here, only Astronomy and Divination classrooms. Bellatrix skipped down it, relieved to be alone at last. She turned the corner...

Martine Pleasance stood in the middle of the corridor, arms folded once more, but with a more calm expression on her face. Less embarrassed. Smug, even.

"How did you get there so quickly?" asked Bellatrix.

Martine shrugged. "Secret passageway and a command over the staircases. When you're Head Girl, you get free reign over these things..."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "Congratulations on becoming Head Girl, Martine. Maybe this year people will look beyond your boring face and hideous personality to see you as the useless title you now hold."

Martine walked towards Bellatrix.

"Keep away from me," said Bellatrix.

"No. Because you don't give orders. I do. And I have many for you..." Martine stopped inches from Bellatrix's face. She breathed down on her. "Head Girls walk straight into jobs as Heads of Department at the Ministry if their reign at Hogwarts is a success. I'm not going to let you fuck up my chances."

Martine had large pores. Bellatrix could practically see them pulsing out sweat.

"I swear to God, Bellatrix, there is nothing I won't do to stop you doing your usual demented shit. I'm Head Girl. Do you understand? _Head. Girl. _I could crush you like a bug. I could get someone else to crush you for me. You're going to have to hold yourself back this year, Bellatrix, because you are under my thumb. You and your sisters-"

A hand in her pocket and a hand on Martine's throat. Bellatrix shoved Martine back against the wall with all the force she had. While Martine cried out from the force her head hit the stone, Bellatrix aimed her wand at Martine's stomach.

"Strange place to aim a wand, isn't it?" Bellatrix grinned. "Not for me. I wouldn't kill you. Not at school. But I have no qualms in causing untold damage to you."

Martine gasped and scratched at Bellatrix's hand, which was clenched tightly around her neck.

Bellatrix laughed. "Seriously, the pain I could inflict on you is unspeakable! If you don't believe me, I have victims. I could give you their names."

Martine's face was turning purple. Her eyes were bulging. Bellatrix pulled her hand away from Martine, who collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath. Bellatrix did not bother aiming her wand at her. Martine coughed and coughed until vomit came up.

"I have a busy year ahead of me, Martine. Make sure you don't become a distraction."

Martine stumbled past Bellatrix and galumphed down the corridor like a chimp, before disappearing round the corner.

Bellatrix located the spiral staircase up to the top of the Astronomy tower. The climb was longer than she remembered it. She cursed herself for going a whole summer without exercise.

When she got to the top, she lifted the latch and clambered inside. The deck was bathed in moonlight, and the night air froze the metal floor.

"Janina?" Bellatrix called out. "Are you here?"

"I am," replied a softer voice. From within the shadows emerged a silver-haired Ravenclaw, her skin as milky and pure as the moonlight itself. "You're late."

The two girls met each other in the middle of the deck and kissed. Their arms were around each other quickly, having gone three months without any of this.

When they pulled apart, Bellatrix studied Janina's face. "Your face is swollen."

Janina smiled and nodded. "I've been crying. I put Mummy in the hospital yesterday. It was awful."

"What did you do?"

"She was trimming the apple tree. I didn't want to hold the ladder."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "You're a disaster."

Janina frowned. "I know. How was your summer?"

Bellatrix shrugged and sat cross-legged on the floor. "It was interesting. I actually have something to tell you."

**oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo**

_A/N: Please review, favourite &amp; follow. _

_N x_


	4. Ch 3: Spaces and New Faces

**2nd September 1968**

Chapter Three: Spaces and New Faces.

Andromeda and her classmates were back, as though they'd never been away, in their dusty and gloomy classroom. There was a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher though, as there had been every year for a long time. Some of the more insipid girls of Andromeda's class were giggling, whispering and fiddling with their hair. Andromeda paid them no attention. Instead, she opened the letter that had arrived for her earlier in the day. It was tricky business finding privacy in the Slytherin dungeons. Andromeda was grateful for the new teacher's imminent arrival. He was like an unwitting antelope approaching a pack of hungry hyenas.

_Dear Andromeda, _

_Your father and I had to find out from Sigmund Gamp that Narcissa had been sorted into Slytherin, which was embarrassing for us. Tell Narcissa that we shall be having words with her at Christmas. But also, please-_

"WOOF! WOOF!"

"Fuck off!"

"WOOF! aaWOOOOOOOOOO!"

"FUCK OFF!"

Doreen Shunpike had entered the classroom, late as usual.

Doreen Shunpike was Andromeda's only friend. She'd become so by being brave enough not to run away from Andromeda's scary sister in first year. Inevitably, Doreen and Bellatrix despised each other. Bellatrix was nasty, with a vicious temper and cruel eyes. Doreen was ugly, with matted hair and piano teeth. Bellatrix was bad-tempered. Doreen was vulgar. Bellatrix was a whore. Slag. Cocktease. Doreen was a gutter-rat. A creature. A dyke. It was Doreen who started Bellatrix's nickname. _Snake_. Because of Doreen, people hissed at Bellatrix in the corridors. It was Bellatrix who started Doreen's nickname. _Dog_. Because of Bellatrix, people woofed and howled at Doreen. This five-year war had lead to people nicknaming Andromeda too. _Puppy. _She'd be lost and alone without the Dog. The Dog protected her from the predators. And yet, for some reason, The Puppy wouldn't stop playing with The Snake.

"Greta fucking Gamp..." growled Doreen as she threw her bag on the floor and squeezed onto the bench beside Andromeda. "One day, she's gunna push me over the edge and I'll curse her straight into the hospital wing. Who's that from?" Doreen started to read the letter over Andromeda's shoulder.

"My mother. Funny you should mention Greta. She's owled her father with news of my sister's Sorting in the space of twenty four hours. How very strange."

Doreen rolled her eyes and turned round to face the back, where girls were still howling and woofing. "CAN'T MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS, CAN YOU, GRETA! HOW'S YOUR OLD MAN?"

"_Doreen_!" Andromeda hissed, grabbing her friend's cloak collar and turning her back round.

At the same time, the doors to the classroom rattled and swung open. Sunshine from the corridor lit up the centre aisle.

Ted Tonks, a lanky fair-haired Hufflepuff boy, ran in carrying an enormous stack of text books, which swayed as he moved. The pile buckled. As they began to fall, Ted practically dived at the teacher's desk and the books came crashing down onto it. Most of the class laughed as Ted went bright red, gathering the books up again.

"Settle down, please, class," said an unfamiliar, deep, soothing voice.

The room fell silent, except for the sound of Ted Tonks piling up textbooks.

Then, a slow rhythmic tapping sound echoed around the room, like a ticking grandfather clock. Andromeda watched the shadows. From within them, a tall, skinny fair-haired man emerged. Andromeda guessed him to be barely forty, but he wore thick-framed glasses and a tweed suit and hobbled down the aisle with the help of a wooden walking stick.

In a way, he resembled Ted Tonks: fair curly hair, long neck, bony.

"Sweet Merlin, that's him!" whispered Doreen.

"A little bit more light, I think..." decreed the man. Even Andromeda, who liked to think she was not as shallow as most other girls in fifth year, felt her insides turn to jelly a bit.

The man flicked his wand in the direction of the windows and the shutters prised open, letting sunlight flood the room once more after the doors shut. Everyone groaned for a second, then fell completely silent.

The man reached the front of the class and turned round to face the students.

"Good morning, class," he said.

"Good morning, Professor..." the class hesitated.

"Professor Fogget. Archibald Fogget. I'm your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Well, at least there was somebody pleasant to look at... and listen to.

Professor Fogget moved to the blackboard and picked up a piece of chalk.

"Fourth year is notoriously dull for those who prefer the practical elements of this art," he explained as he began writing his name on the board. "I'm afraid I cannot be held responsible for your Repetitive Strain Injuries obtained by your note-taking."

Some students groaned.

"Sir?" called a boy from the other side of the classroom.

"Yup?"

"Was you a Hufflepuff at school, Sir?"

It was Brian Peverell who'd spoken. A few of his cronies were sniggering. He too was stifling a grin.

Professor Fogget turned round. "What makes you think I was a Hufflepuff?"

Brian shrugged. "Just guessing."

Professor Fogget raised an eyebrow and put down his chalk. "I was a Slytherin, actually."

Brian Peverell's nostrils flared. Andromeda guessed he was trying hard not to roll his eyes.

"Anyway, back to the lesson. We'll be using the school's theory text books this week so there'll be no need to bring your instruction books. Mr Tonks will hand them out."

Ted Tonks grabbed a pile of about ten and rushed past Professor Fogget to distribute them.

"Thank you, Mr Tonks. Now, when you get a book, turn to page 103 and copy down the title."

"Sir?"

"Mmm?"

Brian Peverell was persisting. Only this time, he looked a little reluctant to ask his question.

"Um, nothing. Don't worry."

Professor Fogget sighed. "Very well. Has everybody found page 103 yet?"

"Sir?"

Andromeda and Doreen gave each other bored looks as Professor Fogget groaned and faced the bunch of Slytherins again.

"What do you want?" he asked impatiently. By the way he spoke, Andromeda was under the impression that he was not comfortable with losing his temper.

This time, it had been Donald Zabini who'd spoken this time. Brian Peverell was sitting beside him, red in the face from having been dismissed from duty.

Donald Zabini was looking particularly daring. "Why d'you have a cane, Sir?"

"It's not a cane, it's a walking stick. I use it because I have a bad leg."

He hesitated. He looked around the room purposefully. "Any more questions?"

"Did you get injured?"

"Yes."

"How?"

Professor Fogget inhaled sharply. He gave Donald a hard stare. He swallowed thickly.

"What is your name, boy?"

"Zabini, Sir. Donald Zabini."

"Then tell me, Mr Zabini, do you enjoy Hogwarts?"

Donald peered around the room, uncertain of the question. Many other students were doing the same thing.

"Er, yeah. It's alright."

"Proud parents? Good set of friends?"

Donald raised his head and stuck his chest out. "Yeah, of course."

Professor Fogget smiled sadly. "Then I can't possibly expect you to understand."

Donald sank back into his seat, defeated but none-the-wiser. For some reason, Professor Fogget's enigma made Andromeda like him.

"Everybody start reading page 103. Our first topic for this term is The Imperius Curse."

Andromeda was at the front, so her book was delivered quickly. While the others were being passed around, she had a few seconds to read the rest of her mother's letter.

-_keep an eye on Bellatrix. Her behaviour this term is paramount. Also tell her that we expect to hear good things about her. Your grandmother will not be persuaded to back down. Your father and I, too, are resolute._

_Enjoy your first week back. Reply soon._

_Mother. _

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo

At lunchtime, the Great Hall's usual seating arrangement had changed. First years were claiming spots along their House's tables, and older students were therefore being usurped. Bellatrix and her friends had a new position at the very end of their table, nearest the doors. To Bellatrix's dismay, however, they were now sat inches away from Janina Macmillan.

Bellatrix tried to appear casual, sitting languidly on the bench with Jesper Goyle and Iago Greengrass sat beside her, arguing about nothing that Bellatrix cared about.

"I dare you. Go on, I dare you."

"I told you, no!"

"You're too chicken," said Iago to Jesper in his snide, nasal voice that had always made Bellatrix's skin crawl.

"I bloody well am not! I'd do it in a heartbeat but it's just too much effort."

"Rubbish," droned Iago. "You just don't want to make a fool of yourself."

"It's not that."

"Yes it is."

Whilst they quarrelled, Bellatrix eyed the gaggle of Sixth years over in the far corner of the hall. It was mostly compromised of Gryffindors, with the Fabian and Gideon Prewett being the centre-piece of the ensemble. Their dumpy little sister, Molly, smiled gingerly around her as people made jokes. They were responsible for most of the noise and laughter in the hall. Of course, that was inevitable. The Prewett brothers were like Gods in Gryffindor House. Now that their sister had been confronted by _the notorious _Bellatrix Black and survived, she was a hero too. They were the talk of the school. They were not what interested Bellatrix though. She was watching Janina Macmillan with a keen eye. She was sat at the edge of the Prewett bubble, smiling pleasantly as everyone ignored her. The sight made her twitch.

"I'm ten times as capable as you are, Greengrass. I just don't fancy wasting my time with such nonsense..."

"Goyle, when will you just accept that you are too bloody chicken?"

Bellatrix rolled her eyes and leant back, looking at them from upside down. "Whatever you two are droning on about, it sound very boring. Please desist."

Iago and Jesper gave each other cold stares before Jesper grabbed his school bag, yanked it open and rummaged around in it.

"Now what are you doing?" asked Iago.

Moments later, Jesper pulled out a Potions exercise book and a short, stubby pencil. "I'm doing your bloody dare. I'm signing up."

"For what?" asked Bellatrix.

"Quidditch tryouts."

He ripped the corner of a page in his exercise book and began scribbling something onto it.

Bellatrix leapt to her feet and whacked the pencil out of his hands with her own book. "Don't even think about it."

"Why not?" Iago scoffed as Jesper looked startled. "It'll do him some good to challenge himself."

"Challenge himself?" Bellatrix echoed. She turned to Jesper. "Don't bother, Goyle. It's embarrassing."

Jesper wrinkled his nose. "What do you mean?"

Bellatrix sat up and spoke loudly. "Quidditch players are the ones who have no hope in succeeding academically. They turn to it as a last resort."

Several people laughed as the Prewett brothers glared at Bellatrix. However, last year's Slytherin team were far from impressed either.

Iago and Jesper exchanged a confused look, though Jesper did look slightly relieved that Bellatrix had spoken up.

"That's a pile of rubbish, Black," scoffed Iago. "Quidditch players at Hogwarts go down in history. It's prestigious."

"Not in _my _circle. It's a waste of time. Quidditch players have the wrong ambitions and no brains. Now, do you want to be associated with the wrong sort? Or are you content to shut your fucking trap?"

Iago flinched and remained silent. Satisfied, Bellatrix smirked and sat back down, facing the crowd of Prewett worshippers again.

"If anyone should sign up for Quidditch tryouts, Iago, it should be you. You don't have much of a reputation to lose. Wasn't your great-uncle Patrieth Greengrass a... what was it... a muggle sympathiser?"

Jesper snorted a laugh and Bellatrix grinned.

Iago scowled at the back of her head. "Tell me, Bella, how's your Uncle Alphard? I hear he's doing just fine in muggle London..."

As her back was turned, Iago could not see Bellatrix clench her teeth. "I don't know what you're talking about, Greengrass. I don't know anybody by the name of Alphard."

Iago scoffed. "Yeah? Of course."

Bellatrix whirled round to argue, but someone ran in to the Great Hall calling her name.

"Bella! Bellatrix!"

In ran a short, skinny girl with perfectly bouncy hazel-coloured ringlets springing around her shoulders, pinned here and there in an obsessively fixed way.

"Adelaide, my dear cousin!" smiled Bellatrix, not making any move to get up. "You've neglected to come and find me all day. How was your Summer?"

Adelaide Rosier was sickeningly pretty. At least, most people thought she was. She resembled a china doll in the plastic colour of her eyes and her perfectly shiny curls and her porcelain skin. It drove Bellatrix mad and it made her stomach roll. She never cared much for Cousin Adelaide, who was clingy and about as subtle as a brick when it came to climbing her way up the social ladder. She was tactless and ditzy, but she was also maliciously well-informed on the wizarding world and was guaranteed a good place in society when she was older.

Adelaide beamed at Bellatrix, who hadn't noticed the timid little minion cowering behind her.

"My Summer was wonderful, actually," said Adelaide proudly. "We went to America. Daddy has some very wealthy clients over there. We stayed with them on their estate."

"Spiffing," said Bellatrix dryly. "Mine was excellent, thank you for asking. We actually saw our father at one point. Cissy even spoke to him."

Adelaide flicked her hair behind her shoulder. "You simply _must _thank your parents for me. They sent me fifty galleons on my birthday. It was so thoughtful."

"Oh, I will."

Adelaide smirked, looking horrifically more smug. "I was ever so sorry to hear about your little predicament. I had no idea it was happening so soon."

Bellatrix's eyes widened.

"Bella?" hissed Jesper from beside her. "What's she talking about?"

"Maybe nothing will come of it," shrugged Adelaide. "But everyone knows that you're engaged to-"

"_Rumours_," sighed Bellatrix. "Honestly, we've been back at Hogwarts for two days and the rumour mill has started up again. No prizes for guessing who started _that _one..." Bellatrix looked over at the Prewetts. The others followed her gaze.

"The Prewetts?" asked Iago doubtfully.

"After that nasty little run-in I had with their sister yesterday, it's no wonder they're trying to get back at me."

"Ooh!" interjected Adelaide. "Is it true that Molly Prewett stamped on your foot?"

"What?! No!" Bellatrix leapt to her feet. She could feel blood burning in her cheeks.

"Wow..." said Jesper. "The Prewetts are full of it today... maybe we'll have to pay them a visit."

But before Jesper, Iago or Bellatrix moved towards the Gryffindor table, Bellatrix noticed someone she hadn't seen before.

From behind Adelaide, put stepped a younger girl. A tiny thing that Bellatrix almost didn't recognise.

"Who is this?" she asked, pushing Adelaide aside with the back of her hand. A small girl with dark hair and glasses stared wide-eyed at Bellatrix, not saying a word.

"Surely, this is not little Cassandra Rosier..."

Cassandra nodded vigorously.

Bellatrix leaned in, inches away from her face. The face was a beautiful thing to Bellatrix; everything was there. Bravery and fear, challenge and surrender... her little cousin was terrified.

"Congratulations, Cassandra. I saw you at the Sorting. You're a Slytherin. You must be very proud."

Cassandra smiled weakly and nodded.

Bellatrix cocked her head to the side. "You must share a dorm with dear Cissy. Is she well?"

"Yes."

"Oh, good. Do tell her that Bellatrix remembers her from when we used to speak."

Cassandra gulped and nodded again.

"You and Adelaide can sit with me," she slithered an arm around Cassandra's shoulders. She felt the girl shudder and was about to make things very uncomfortable for the Rosiers, but the doors to the Great Hall were flung open.

The noise died, leaving nothing but the sound of footsteps echoing through the hall. A tall girl with waist-length dark hair and caramel-coloured skin sauntered into the room. She was flanked by three people: Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall and a tanned dark-haired woman in a tight snake-skin power suit, looking as though she was sucking a sour sweet.

"That girl," whispered Jesper. "She's not wearing her House colours."

"That's because she doesn't _have _any House colours," Adelaide whispered back. "That's Leonora De Luca. She's new. Her ancestors founded the Guido de Luca school in Italy thousands of years ago. Her parents are loaded."

"What's she doing here?" asked Bellatrix.

"No idea," replied Adelaide.

The girl, Leonora, looked round at the students, all of whom were staring at her. Leonora seemed unfazed. Dumbledore was gesturing to the hall and saying something to her mother, who was nodding.

"Dumbledore's showing them around," Jesper noticed. "Is she coming here?!"

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "She's wearing Hogwarts robes, Goyle, what do you think?"

Dumbledore gestured towards the door and the group filed out. Standing by the doors were Barty Crouch and Rodolphus Lestrange, who were watching Leonora with raised eyebrows. As soon as she passed, Rodolphus looked up, straight at Bellatrix.

Bellatrix scowled at him and slumped back down into her seat as the noise picked up again.

"That Leonora girl," began Bellatrix, distracting herself. "Does she have a brother?"

"No idea," shrugged Adelaide. "Why?"

Bellatrix knew Rodolphus was still looking at her. It may have been the light, but he didn't look all too pleased to see her. Bellatrix hoped it was due to the cold look she had given him.

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo

_Dear Mother, _

_I've spoken to Narcissa and she promises to write to you as soon as she has the time, which sounds like she doesn't care but she does. I just think she's worried about looking too homesick. She seems to be settling in well and has already made some friends. I wouldn't worry. _

_I haven't seen Bella today but I'll try and find her tomorrow morning. I'll tell her what you said but I can't promise she'll understand your meaning. I hope she's not in trouble. _

_We met our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher today. He's about your age and he was in Slytherin when he was at Hogwarts, so you might know him. His name is Archibald Fogget._

_All my love, _

_Andromeda._

Archibald Fogget... that was familiar indeed...

Druella folded the letter in half and pressed it to her chest. The only sounds in the house were the ticking grandfather clock and the house elves below the stairs, preparing Druella's dinner. Her husband would be dining with colleagues tonight. Just like last night.

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo

_A/N: Thank you for reading. _

_Next chapter will be up shortly, I hope. _

_N x_


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